3 Days of Sodom
by dreamerglimmer
Summary: Upon hearing of Rose's infidelity Caledon Hockley decides to punish the star crossed lovers. Contains rape, sadism and psychologically dark themes. Cal/Jack/Rose.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: The events of this story diverge from the main plot after Jack and Rose kiss for the first time (right after Jack dines with Rose's family).**

**Disclaimer: I make no money off of this work nor own anything.**

**Warnings for upcoming chapters: Violence, torture, mutilation, rape, loss of virginity, major character death, racist and homophobic slurs, misogyny. You name it.**

**Pairings: Cal/Jack/Rose.**

Word spreads faster than lice in high society.

Caledon all but slings his glass into the nearest wall when a colored table server looks him in the eye and shakes his head, grinning, like he's privy to something Cal should already know.

"Always at it, tongues wagging." hisses Cal under his breath. He stands up abruptly and strides up to the puzzled waiter.

Cal hands him a dollar. The nigger starts.

"What do you know." says Cal.

"You won't like it sir."

Cal can truly feel his patience wearing thin. He doesn't however, look forward to adding the ape to the ever growing list of people he must squash for crossing him, so he gives the nigger a chance to atone himself.

He hooks a finger under the man's collar and pulls him closer so they're merely inches apart. "Won't like what?" he says.

"Your fiancee Sir! They, pardon me, aren't even sneaking around. Absolutely everyone knows."

"Who is _they_?"

The nigger squirms under Cal's icy gaze, but still manages to utter:

"Some fellow from the third class sir." Cal twists the nigger's collar. "John! Jack! I didn't quite catch the name sir, not that anyone would be talking about the young man when a lady's reputation is on the line!"

"Jack Dawson? Scrawny, fair?"

"That's him, yes!" Cal releases the gossip and watches him scramble away, eager to get out of Cal's sight.

Caledon adjusts his own collar and brushes away invisible dust off his impeccable attire. Jack Dawson. He knew that street rat would be trouble from the moment he crashed into his life. Just another testament to the slipping control of the nobility over the serfs. Back in the seventeenth century...But that's a thought for another day.

* * *

><p>It doesn't take much to locate Jack Dawson. All Cal has to do is find out where <em>his fiancee is<em>, which isn't at all a challenge when just about every last servant is savoring the scandal.

A fifteen minute walk across the ship's deck, and he practically runs right into the bastard. Cal turns the other way and disappears in the darkness of a random doorway.

The boy paces leisurely, hand in had with a woman born for a king.

_Probably fancying himself on top of the world right now; There he is, brushing shoulders with old money, getting invited to their table, fucking a million dollar girl._ thinks Cal, noting himself slipping into a bloodthirsty rage.

There's nothing he hates more than pitiful creatures lifting their heads too high. Whenever he spots one, all he can ever think of is knocking them back to the dirt where they belong and showing them in the clearest way possible, exactly who they ought to bow down to.

Cal watches them for a long minute, entertaining briefly the idea of framing Dawson. It seems too merciful. Give him the dignity of being persecuted by the court? A sure waste of federal budget.

Meanwhile, the couple leans in for a kiss. The wind picks up Rose's scarlet curls, and Dawson seems an angel carved of marble in the afternoon light.

Caledon is ill prepared for the wave of lust spilling into his blood.

He wants them. Wants to show Dawson how a real man would handle a girl like Rose. Wants to make Dawson watch as he fucks her in every hole, see him mark her as his own whore to do with as he will. Wants to force the boy to his knees and choke him on his cock. He's certainly pretty enough; elegant in the way few stiffs are.

He can wait to kill Dawson. It'll be the cherry on top to first strip him of his dignity and then his life.

* * *

><p>He waits till it's dark. Till Rose bids Dawson goodnight, lips flushed from kisses like hard candy. Dawson lingers on the spot, looking as spellbound as Cal feels.<p>

When he too decides to turn in for the night, he heads for the same doorway where Cal lurks, and that's where he's ceased in an iron grip. Dawson struggles, but Cal is much taller, broader, stronger from a lifetime of recreational sports and regular meals.

He attempts calling for help but Cal clamps his hand over that pretty mouth and presses Dawson into a wall.

"Now listen here boy." he hisses hotly into Dawson's ear. "You think you can take what's mine? You think you're worthy to so much as touch the fabric of her dress? It's high time you've learned where you stand in this world boy- You're mine now. My doll to play with, and not even one of the better ones- just a cheap, disposable faggot."

Dawson balks and Cal doubles over in pain. He almost manages to slip away, but Cal recovers fast enough to subdue him again with the press of his own body. Dawson spits in Cal's face.

"You're going to wish you haven't done that."

"BURN IN HELL!" roars Dawson.

"Opiate of the masses." chuckles Cal and knocks out the younger man with a single precise punch.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I wasn't originally going to cut off the chapter at this point in the story, but I'm a slow writer and to finish the chapter as I've intended would take at least a month, so here's 1/3 of chapter 2.**

Dawson's a pest.

Cal carries him most of the way without incident but the moment they reach Cal's suite the little rat comes to and puts on a stink so loud that it's a miracle half the ship doesn't gather at Cal's doorstep, wondering who in the hell is being murdered at this hour of night.

Cal shoves Dawson inside the suite and slams the door behind them. The boy immediately makes a move for the door for which Cal hits him, sending him tumbling to the floor.

"You're insane!" coughs Dawson, spitting out blood onto what to his luck happens to be the ship's carpeting and not Cal's own.

"A lesser man would have killed you for touching their wife."

"She won't marry you! And you can be my guest you sodomite!"

"Whatever you say." sneers Cal.

He plunges down and grabs Dawson by the belt.

"No!" Shrieks Dawson. One of his knees flies up and hits Cal in the chin.

Cal cracks his jaw and punches Dawson in the windpipe- sending the rat into a coughing fit.

"Now Dawson," he says, swiftly unbuckling and then yanking out the belt. "when a man means to die, it's not a habit of mine to stop him."

Dawson doesn't so much as manage a blink before Cal has both of his hands behind his back and tightened together with his own belt.

Cal plops down onto Dawson's back and pulls off his shoes.

"What the fuck?" rasps Dawson. Cal doesn't dignify him with a reply.

He sets down the left shoe in between Dawson's shoulder blades and proceeds to unlace the shoestrings. Finished with the first shoe, he throws it aside and starts up the same tedious task on the second.

Finally, with both strings at his disposal, Caledon ties them together and manipulates them into a makeshift noose.

He rises off Dawson's back and drags him up to his feet. "On the chair." he orders, pushing Dawson in the direction of a much too beautiful redwood seat.

Dawson bolts.

Caledon chuckles and goes to fetch himself a drink. A moment later there comes the sound of shuffling, followed by a scream of pain and then Lovejoy enters, dragging in a roughed up Dawson.

"Whatever would I do without you?" muses Cal. "Hand him here and find me a rope."

"But sir, he won't be easy to dispose of...There's sentries up on the deck."

"I'll do it myself, just get me the damn rope."

"Whatever you say sir." shrugs Lovejoy and leaves Caledon one on one with his prey.

Cal pulls Dawson back by the hips and rubs against him in a manner which the oaf won't likely mistake for anything else but lewd.

Dawson lets out a shuddering gasp.

"I-I thought you're...Aren't you going to kill me?!"

"Maybe I changed my mind." says Cal. He traces his mouth down Dawson's dewy jaw and bites into his neck.

"No! Just kill me, I won't run away!" yelps Dawson, shamelessly contradicting himself as he begins to struggle.

"Will this do?" cuts in Lovejoy, holding out a perhaps too thick, yet sturdy looking curtain rope.

"Looks like you'll be getting your wish then." says Cal and pushes the boy at Lovejoy, who raises an eyebrow.

"Hold him for me for a second will you?" asks Cal, taking the offered rope.

"WHY?!" explodes Dawson.

"Why what?" says Cal, busy with the noose. "Or is it,-why me? As a Catholic you should probably recall that 'You shall not covet your neighbor's wife'."

"Why do you gotta hang me?! It's what the English do!"

"And you, I suppose come from a line of niggers yourself?" guffaws Caledon.

"Italians..."

"You don't say! With that complexion, I would've pegged you for a Slav."

"No one in my family was ever hanged."*****

"What about fucked up the ass?" asks Cal.

Dawson pales. Cal hands the noose to Lovejoy.

"Hang it up." he orders.

Cal draws Dawson back by the shoulders to make room for his butler but doesn't make any attempt at fondling him (to the boy's near audible relief). Instead, Cal reaches into his pocket and retrieves a handkerchief which he then ties around Dawson's mouth.

Lovejoy hops off the chair and motions for Dawson to take his place. With no other choice or a hope of escape, the boy obeys.

"You're free to jump as soon as I step back," says Cal conversationally. "but I think I'll give you something to look forward to..." He turns to Lovejoy:

"I'd like to request a visit from my fiancee. Tomorrow morning. Say, nine o-clock?"

At the mention of Rose, Dawson's face lights up like the fourth of July. Cal grins and tightens the noose around the boy's swan-like neck.

"Sweet dreams." he bids before departing, Lovejoy in tow.

* * *

><p>Cal rises at eight and proceeds to the dining room where he's greeted with a breakfast of kedgeree, smoked fish, and a plate of freshly cut muskmelon for desert. He seats himself down and starts the meal with a cup of coffee, but takes no more then a a single sip and then abandons it altogether.<p>

"Well?" he demands. "What are you waiting for?"

Dawson gives him a dirty look. There are stubborn little sparks in his eyes- sparks of a man determined to live.

They annoy Cal.

"What, you think that little strumpet will make all your dreams come true? Your future's predecided filth; you either kill yourself right now, or spread your legs. That's all there is to it."

Dawson, naturally doesn't jump.

"Not that death will do much for you, trust me. I'll still defile you and plant your body somewhere it'll be found all fucked out like a nickle whore's."

Cal's pleased to see the little sparks dim at the offered prospects. Nothing tastes as good as power and Cal turns back to his breakfast with renewed appetite. Thirty minutes later, Lovejoy enters with an announcement:

"The young lady has arrived Sir." says Lovejoy, ogling Dawson like a sideshow curiosity. "Stubborn isn't he?" he comments.

"Like the rest of the ignorant masses. Their animalistic roots infuse them with an impressive survival instinct."

Lovejoy grins, flashing age-worn teeth. "I'll fetch the girl." he says and disappears behind the fashionable drapery of the doorway.

The room grows menacingly silent, like the quieting before a storm. Caledon expects his traitorous brat of a fiancee to throw a suitably juvenile tantrum, but she does nothing of the kind.

As if anticipating penance, Rose enters without her typical offending brashness and then halts as if frozen to the spot when her gaze lands on Dawson.

"Cal...I...He didn't do anything, please..." she whispers, unconsciously reaching to encircle her own throat.

_In sympathy for Dawson or to protect it from a similar fate?_ wonders Cal.

"I advise you to shut up my dear." he deadpans.

She hushes, staring at Cal with pathetically pleading eyes.

"Now as you see, I've got something dear to you and I _will_ hurt it if you don't obey."

"The two of you," he continues. "you've got some nerve fucking with me. Did you even hear what the whole damn ship's been talking about, hm? Apparently, I happen to be a fool who's found himself a whore to marry. Do you take me for a fool Rose?"

"Please..." begs Rose.

Cal backhands her across the face.

"I thought I told you to shut up!" he bellows.

"They're wrong. You know why Rose? Because I knew damn well who I chose to marry. You're a whore Rose. I've _bought you,_ and you will do exactly as I say."

Pale as chalk, Rose nods.

"Take off your clothes."

"No!" shouts Dawson through his gag.

Cal grins, turning to face the boy.

"I thought I gave you two choices filth."

"Don't!" manages Dawson. Cal starts to tire of his limited vocabulary so he rings for Lovejoy and asks to be brought a knife. When Lovejoy returns, he frowns at the offered dagger.

"That's a relic." he says, peeved.

"My bad Sir." replies Lovejoy and holds out his own pocket knife. "Will this do sir?"

"It'll do fine." says Cal. He snatches the knife and cuts off Dawson's gag in one quick jab. The aim is off and the blade catches Dawson's cheek but the latter makes no notice of it and shouts:

"Don't listen to that fucker Rose!"

Rose shakes her head, sobbing.

"He'll kill you Jack." she chokes out.

"Rose!" but she's doesn't seem to be listening anymore, focused instead on undoing her dress. Soon she's left standing in nothing but her corset, shaking all over like a

leaf in autumn.

Cal takes it upon himself to get rid of the remaining garment by slicing the lacing which rips a shocked gasp out his prey.

He wastes no time on foreplay and thrusts his hand between her legs, sinking his middle finger into her cunt.

"Ah!" she screams but doesn't dare move. Her scream makes her pussy contract around Cal's finger; so deliciously tight. He pistons it once, savagely, probably scratching her in the process, then adds two more fingers, both at once. She sobs, prompting Dawson to pick up his useless shouting:

"Leave her alone! Please! I'll do anything, just let her go!"

Cal thrusts (the now three fingers, almost thick enough to be a cock) and asks no one in particular in a sickeningly sweet voice:

"Nobody's forcing her to do anything now are they? Rose here can decide to leave if she wants, but she seems to be enjoying this. Too. Much." he finishes, punctuating each word with a thrust of his hand. There's a trickle of blood running down his wrist now, and Rose is a mess; sobbing and and shaking but not uttering a word to prove Cal wrong.

"Me! You were going to fuck ME so do it you freak, you fucking sicko!" rages Dawson, but his voice sounds suspiciously thick.

"And abandon my guest?" says Cal in mock shock, crooking his fingers and making Rose cry out. "What will it be my dear? Would you rather see me do this to Dawson?"

Barely conscious from the sudden shock and pain, Rose says nothing.

"Well. I don't hear any objections." growls Cal. He digs his thumb into her pelvis, then pulls the fingers out, making Rose jump.

"Please!" pleads Dawson.

"Gagging for it aren't you?"

Dawson bristles. Cal laughs and motions for Lovejoy to cut him down.

"Take him to the bathroom and flush him out with an enema. And you," he points at Rose. _"Sit down."_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Side notes:<em>**

**_*To be hanged was once considered a shameful execution method._**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry about fracturing the chapters into such tiny pieces but I'm completely new to writing and I'm quite slow.**

* * *

><p>Exhausted from standing in the same position all night and with the added strain of forcibly emptying his bowls, the boy is as docile as a rag doll as he's led back to the guestroom and dumped, stark naked at Cal's feet.<p>

Cal circles the boy just to admire the sharp shoulder blades and masterfully carved limbs. He knew how a girl like Rose would, _should_ look, but he'd never for the life of him expected to stumble upon a diamond in the rough(least of all in the unwashed face of a third class rat).

It sparks his interest:

"Your family. Tell me about them." he demands.

"This wasn't part of the deal!" dares argue Dawson.

Cal flicks open the knife and carves a line down the brat's arm. Dawson grinds his teeth, stifling a scream of pain.

_Who are you trying to impress here? Rose? _Thinks Cal bemusedly. It's obvious that the boy's never been bullied at school or beaten at home. The idea of being the one to deliver to the bastard a long overdue life lesson goes straight down to Cal's cock.

"Tell me about your family boy or I'll cut you open just to see if your blood runs blue." he warns, trailing the knife up to press into Dawson's throat.

"They died!" spits Dawson, eyes flashing with wounded fury.

Cal' has planned on winding up the two for a while yet, but he's never been a patient man. Caledon's used to getting what he wants, when he wants it and surely, he can interrogate the brat once he's buried balls deep in that warm, helpless little body.

He puts down the knife and drags Dawson into his lap.

"I-it was the smallpox!" stutters Dawson, suddenly all too eager to talk. "I was the only one not to catch it! Ah! no..! GOD!" he yells, kicking out, trying to get away as far as possible from the hardness rubbing against the slit of his ass. It does him no good. Every motion only serves to send sharp spikes of pain into his hands-still tied from the previous night and swelling like an awful bruise.

Cal pays no mind to Dawson's feeble attempts at escape and frees his cock.

"Go on then." he purrs, rubbing himself against Dawson's hole. "Why didn't you get the smallpox?"

"B-because I was...Because I...Because...Please! I CAN'T!... NOT LIKE _THIS!_"

"Well, if that's the way you feel you can always go back to hanging yourself and I can just fuck Rose instead." shrugs Cal.

"BECAUSE I RAN AWAY!" hollers Dawson. The pretty face contorts into a mask of anger but Cal has his hands on his thighs and his cock at his ass and he can feel him tremble.

He reaches for the salve which Lovejoy so graciously provided and begins to slick himself. Dawson gasps and jerks away but Cal drags him back into place. He looms over Dawson and then without warning or preparation, impales him on his cock right down to the root.

He could come right then just from the anguish in the boy's voice.

Cal fucks into him, brutally, reveling in the feel of him wrapped tight around his cock- tight enough to hurt, his body in shock, trying to put an end to the sudden invasion by forcing Cal out and in the process hurting it's self even more.

"Cal! Please!" he hears Rose sob, but she adds nothing more. What can she offer him? Her own body? Then he'll have no use for Dawson and hang him, that they already established.

"Tell me," pants Cal "am I the first to have you? Here I thought you've gotten under Rose's skirt." he grins. "But looks like I've beat you to it."

Dawson turns away, eyes stubbornly shut.

Cal halts the rocking of his hips and reaches for the knife.

He ceases Dawson by the ear.

"AM. I. THE FIRST?" he repeats, carving a warning line at the base of his skull.

"No!" mewls Dawson, jolting away from the blade.

"Who was it then?" persists Cal. "A barefoot prostitute? Or yet another well brought up whore?" he sneers, winking at Rose.

"A teacher!"

"I want to know how you've touched her."

"I! I..."

Dawson struggles to grasp words through the pain of it all. Cal realizes, glancing down at the slim body that Dawson isn't in the slightest bit turned on, and sex must be the furthest thing from his mind despite being stuffed full of cock.

Cal's been with his share of both men and women; All of them redundantly willing, sickeningly wanton whores. Once as a boy, he's even forced himself on the maid. The slag has seemed so provincial that he thought she'd cry her eyes out as he popped her cherry but to his great disappointment she couldn't be more excited- he's thrown her out on the streets the very next day.

Having Dawson, so proud and righteous, destroyed by the slightest shift of Cal's hips is what true power tastes like and Cal's nearly drunk off it as he redoubles his efforts, forcing Dawson to choke on sobs. It's not enough. He wants to see Dawson cry, wants to see him as broken as a moth who's had it's wings pulled off- to pay dearly for his purity and beauty.

He pulls out of the smooth, warm body, and flips Dawson onto his stomach. Slotting himself anew in the loosened hole in one sleek thrust, Cal turns his attention to Dawson's tied hands.

They're purple and puffy from the lack of circulation, scratched raw at the knuckles where they've pressed against the floor. Cal cuts through the belt which binds them together and pulls back Dawson's left hand.

He stabs it in the palm.

Dawson howls, jerking back deliciously onto Cal's cock. Cal twists the knife, widening the ugly wound and feeling the bones of the boy's fingers scrape against the blade. Dawson's definitely crying now, fat tears rolling rolling down to the carpet like liquid diamonds.

"Please! I'll do anything, just stop hurting him! I beg you! Stop hurting him, just stop it please..!" drift in Rose's hysterical screams. She's on her knees, reaching for Dawson then Cal but not daring to touch either.

The desperation in her eyes, the torment of Dawson's gasps, Cal uses the knife as an extension of his phallus, thrusting it with the rhythm of his hips and comes, spilling his load deep into the boy's core.

He drops Dawson's mangled hand and pulls out of his come dripping hole. The boy lays motionless, with tears rolling out the corners of his shut eyes.

Cal tucks himself away and reaches out to stroke Dawson's hair. The boy seems lifeless, his face lax as if in deep sleep, but the feverish heat radiating off his skin gives him away as very much alive.

He pets Dawson as if to comfort a small child, then bends down until his merely inches from his overheated flesh and drawls out:

"And now you're going to tell me about your family."


End file.
